What A Game

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My first instinct when the Yankees were eliminated was to give up baseball for the year.

On Sunday morning, I drove up Langford Road in my hometown and glanced to the park where I got my first ever hit in a little league game.

I saw it clearly. 

A ground ball thru the right side - between first and second - and as I rounded first I heard a lot of voices. My Mom was definitely cheering.

I rounded it too far and had to scramble back to first.

Stood there, panting.

Thought of watching those World Series wins in ‘77 and ‘78 with my Dad.

And thought about the game I’d seen on Saturday night…

…between two teams I don’t care for.

I didn’t know what to root for, so I just sat there and watched.

It was amazing.

Toronto fans feeling it.

Two outs away.

A light hitting 2nd baseman up was to be the first of those two outs with Ohtani on deck.

“I don’t know why they aren’t pinch hitting for this guy,” I told my wife.

“That’s why,” she said, one second later as Rojas hit it over the wall for the first time since the 4th of July.

But there was still the bottom of the 9th and the Jays were going to walk it off, but a backup outfielder ran about 100 yards to make one of the greatest catches I’d ever seen.

What a game.

What a sport.

It was a game I didn’t care about.

At all.

And I won’t forget it for awhile.

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